


in love as I am when I lay with you (I think of him)

by happycakeycake



Series: victorian filth [2]
Category: GOT7, Monsta X (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Victorian, Breathplay, M/M, Porn with Feelings, Power Dynamics, Reunions, Rough Sex, Sexual Content, Teasing, but also tenderness, just a smidgen, more soft decadence, some good ol' tender loving
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-11
Updated: 2018-10-11
Packaged: 2019-07-29 10:53:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16262723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/happycakeycake/pseuds/happycakeycake
Summary: Jia er makes a long-awaited return through the dirty streets of England, past the whorehouses of Brixton - and back to the foreign, familiar, far-off call of home.(pt.2 of the jackheon courtesan au)





	in love as I am when I lay with you (I think of him)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Nyatsuri](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nyatsuri/gifts).



> hi jackheon is not yet dead in my heart  
> Back to important matters - Manuela happy birthday!!!!! This fic is dedicated entirely to you - without you i don’t think there would ever be a final pt.2 to this au. You are forever and always amazing, sweet, and one of the strongest people i have had the honor to get to know, and i love you! I hope this fic only makes your birthday that much better :) and you deserve all the love, all the good things in life - and don’t ever forget it!!!  
> Anyways, please don’t feel obligated to read this if you’re not in the mood - it’s your birthday u gotta do whatever you want!!!! I just wanted you to have this fic that I promised to write for u like a year ago :))  
> happy birthday ilu <33333

It is only as Jia Er makes his way again, passing through the sheeted gray gates of dawn into the silent arch of the doorway, luxurious coins clinking in time to the dozing clerk’s snores, does he realize that _this_ has become a habit.

And what is this?

This is what has him standing in front of the same closed door - _194_ etched in gold, nailed shut with silver - hesitant as the same dark, rumbling walls exhale and swell around him, pushing him closer and closer inside.

Because _that_ is it - what, or really who, is sleeping, hidden from within - that is the cursed habit he can never quite convince himself to break. 

Probably, he thinks slipping the key into the lock, because it’s his own fault he fell so far. A latch clicks open, and the entrance gives way, easy and familiar beneath his hands. The lock itself has scratches branching across its surface in so many directions - well worn by various blind fumblings through the years. Jia Er twirls the key on its single loop, and the metal sings, light, a voice ringing through the silent night. The key is placed inside his pocket, the only weight to rest within his heavy coat.

At the door, he stands on an invisible line - not one foot in or out. He hesitates.

The room is dark, just as all the others are. Through the wide window shines a stream of moonlight, spilling out onto the open floor. If Jia Er were to step too quickly, urgently, even desperately, he would most definitely slip. And so, he hesitates and waits.

He breathes, quiet, so hushed he can barely hear himself. His next inhale is laden with sleep, comfortable, muffled with warm cotton sheets. He exhales, and a sweetness stings at the back of his throat.

All of it - just as it was. Just like before.

Jia Er doesn’t think he wants to wait any longer.

What awaits him is a solitary lump under the blankets. The light unravels from the moon’s hold and fits itself to every formless curve, every dip, a painter’s skilled line of chiaroscuro bestowed upon a faceless subject. Jia Er steals towards the bed anyway, intent on waking his love within these early, early hours. When, in the future, and _if_ he visits again, he should kick the habit of arriving before the sun has even risen.

Still, on the other side of the world, dawn always came before his dreams could end. Arriving back in this godforsaken land of crippled monarchs and blue-eyed devils, the cover of night was, and is, at least a soothing constant.

Right now, Jia Er’s many traveling bags sit at a temporary lodging, untouched from their long journey. It would be a lie to say, this - a soft body rousing beneath him, already turning into his touch - wasn’t the first thing he thought of, the only place he rushed to after his immediate arrival.

Jooheon murmurs in his sleep. Jia Er draws down the blanket, just enough to reveal his cheeks to the glow of the moon’s single eye.

“Mm...,” is the only thing that falls from the courtesan’s parted lips. The ambassador leans closer, cradling a hand under his lax neck. The fine hairs there, longer, much smoother now, tickle against his palm. Jooheon’s head lolls, completely relaxed, and Jia Er pulls him up from the sheets. A precious pearl lifted from the depths of sea and stone; Jia Er holds him to his chest, thumb tracing warm skin, massaging the smooth cord of muscle there. Jooheon’s neck is so pale, so long, stretched beneath the moonlight.

Jia Er exhales, breathless. The pressure inside him, a fume puffing through chest and throat, is smothering any and all abilities to speak. Jooheon is a dream of supple curves and aching softness - and it feels like it’s all too much against his own rough calluses.

Then there’s a telltale whisper - the courtesan’s lashes flutter, the slit of his eyes opened, barely a peek. A rattling trail of breath, a whimsical departure from some dream or other, lingering in the fitful space between sleep and wake. Jia Er is suddenly and inextricably too scared to meet Jooheon’s drowsy stare.

So he burrows himself deep, tangling himself in a crown of black locks, spread across the pillows. Mouth dry, he noses at the flushed skin of Jooheon’s nape. His hand, on automatic reflex, finds itself threaded in loose hairs, nails scratching across the courtesan’s scalp. His grip feels like it’s too tight, but Jia Er isn’t sure - he can’t let go.

Beneath him, Jooheon unfurls, awakening. He smells like the remnants of sweet perfume, a kind of muffled dust that sticks under the bed covers when you toss and turn in your dreams, and barely, just the light musk of fresh sweat. Jia Er, starved for months on end, could slather himself in it, swallow it down whole. A questioning hum rumbles through the body trapped under his, a vibration that bumps into his chest, and he clenches his eyes shut, burying his face further into wild black curls.

A hoarse, incomprehensible mumble. Then, repeated, slower, surer. “Jia Er?”

The ambassador’s eyes flick open. _So he remembers after all_. One way or the other, Jooheon would have found out who he was - but that he recognized Jia Er on the brink of sleep, simply with touch alone, on the familiar puzzle pieces of their bodies being fitted together again - it fills him with a terrible, selfish pride.

“Who else?” His voice falls low, rough around the edges. He tries to tease, but the relief bleeds through, too raw on his own ears.

The courtesan makes another sound, resounding thunder muted with a low echo inside his chest. Warm fingers return the embrace, lacing over his back. A small grip pulls at his coat, almost urgent, and then Jooheon goes lax beneath him. This time, a gentle push worms its way between their bodies, a palm pressed against his chest, and Jia Er rises onto his elbows. Finally, he lets his love look upon his face.

Jooheon’s lips part in silent surprise. Neither of them have changed much, but the weary lines under Jia Er’s eyes are darker, skin bruised, the weight upon his brow sunken further with the passing months. On the contrary, as he fits his palm to the courtesan’s cheek, tangling his fingers in a halo of hair, Jooheon is silk in his hands, spread open and softer than ever before.

Perhaps he should say something. Something like _i missed you, did you miss me,_ or even _i still love you - do you love me?_ Jia Er is a man who speaks his mind, but here, frozen in a bath of cold moonlight, the touch of his lover slowly dancing across his cheek - he’s rendered a coward.

(Perhaps a selfish part of him wants Jooheon to say it first).

The courtesan is quiet, but his hands speak volumes. Between his palms, he cradles Jia Er’s face as if he were sculpted from smooth glass, more delicate than any flesh or bone. His fingers are light, a promise to be gentle with him. Jia Er can feel the brush of his bangs over his forehead as Jooheon traces his way across his hairline. Those hands, still so delicate, barely touching him, go on to find the other dips of his face. Every curve, every line, and every edge is admired, venerated, and worshiped by the most adoring of followers.

And yet - the other man pauses in his silent exploration, his deliberation an unreadable mystery.

When those hands resume their path, they go back and forth, over and over again. Jia Er is sure if there was treasure to be found beneath his skin, Jooheon would have dug it up ten times over. The courtesan, a strange light within his eyes, continues to search.

His hair is parted this way and that, hands tangling within thick locks to pull his bangs up or down with only a slight difference between each look. Jia Er imagines that all iterations of him are handsome to the man below him. Then, those fingers draw two sharp lines, right under his cheekbones, following them to the natural slope of his mouth. Suddenly they bite, digging the edge of a nail right into his bottom lip.

Jia Er flinches, teeth automatically catching on Jooheon’s retreating finger. The courtesan presses the pad of his thumb into the dip of his mouth, an apology. He soothes across the rest of Jia Er’s mouth, smearing his touch from one corner of his lips to the other. It’s more of a tease than anything else.

Jia Er can’t ever tell between them, the coy games or the hot desperate kisses, if Jooheon has ever intended for more. As it is, he lets the courtesan commit his every feature to memory, already blinded within this darkness, encompassed in the heat of his body, melting so easily within his hands.

“ _I_ _missed you._ ”

Jia Er’s terrible, selfish heart skips, surging at those words.

He tries to lessen the impact, stop the sudden, irrational hope from taking root inside him. “Your lovely little _dongsaeng_ no longer sneaks into your bed?” Jia Er’s accusation falls flat. The affection in his voice is obvious, fondness bleeding into every inflection and tone. Instead of trying to fool Jooheon, and even more, himself, he buries his words with a muffled inhale of black locks instead. A sweet incense fills his lungs, hypnotic, as thick as wine.

“As if.” Jia Er can imagine the pout already, full lips pulling themselves into something plush and undeniable. “He’s all grown up now. Barely even calls me _hyung_ anymore.”

Fingers part the darkness, slipping past an eternity of folds to tangle around his neck. The warm weight pulls - _come closer_ \- and Jia Er leans into it without protest. “But it seems you’ve been practicing your pronunciation.” Jooheon smiles, playful, and his dimples fill with pools of moonlight.

“I did make a second stop on my way back.” _On my way home_ sits just at the tip of his tongue. Jia Er is awfully tempted to whisper the words aloud, swallow them down with the taste of Jooheon on his lips. He refrains and presses his mouth to a soft cheek instead. Instead, the teasing follows, as easy as ever - quicker than hard truths, sweeter than any lies. “All of Korea tells me they miss you _terribly_.”

( _and i missed you even more)_

With the blankets tangled like feathery down between their legs, filling in the dips between clenched fingers, rising to meet the arch of a back - they’re entwined, bodies more intimate than ever. There is no distance between them, not the rise and fall of moon or sun, the space bridging land, sky, and sea - and yet Jia Er still can’t say it aloud.

“Do they now?” Jooheon laughs, a heady little sound that settles, light, a circlet around his neck.

The sensation of it, a breath, a gasp behind his ear, is reminiscent of so many past (illicit) moments. It seeps into him, as warm as rainwater. “They do,” the ambassador confesses, tracing dry kisses along the fine line of Jooheon’s tilted chin. His heart pounds, breath catching with every close press of his mouth.

“They miss you dearly - _just as I have.”_ These words, this final confession is paused over the curve of another pair of lips. They brush so close together Jooheon can feel Jia Er’s exhale whisper across his skin. _Silly man_ , Jooheon wants to kick him - _just kiss me already._ Instead, Jia Er remains stock still, frozen like a shocked deer above him.

The courtesan rolls his eyes and yanks the other man down by his stuffy collar. For a moment, Jia Er catches sight of the slight tease pulling at full lips, the stars glittering within a sly stare - and then he’s thoroughly kissed into silence.

Everything falls away into a murmur - only the hands cupped around his cheeks, lips parting around his own, the solid body pulsing, pounding, demanding against him - it’s all that matters. When they pull away, Jia Er is dazed, numbed with sated pleasure. Dazed enough that he willingly falls when a bare leg locks around his waist and rolls them over in a sharp flurry of sheets, silk, and swirling dust.

Jooheon sits on top, satisfaction curling over his swollen mouth. He presses his palms against Jia Er’s shirt, fingers digging into the warm muscle beneath. They leave momentary imprints, valleys that swell and smooth over, but Jia Er feels each one like a permanent mark.

The courtesan revels in his seat, his throne atop Jia Er’s lap. The moonlight falls, poured without restraint into every dip and curve and crease of the man above him. Jooheon arches, a sight to see as his head falls back, black hair leaving wild streaks among the shadows. Jia Er bites his tongue, concentration draining away, drop by drop, minute by minute. Their bodies move against one another, burning, shifting, the friction an unbearable bite over their clothes, under their skin. Jooheon smirks, his fox-eyed stare slitted and _oh so_ sharp - there’s a clear victor here.

Jia Er takes to teasing well enough, even likes it on some occasions, but right now he fully intends on retaliating.

Jia Er slides his hands up and around the curve of supple hips, palms settled into the arch of Jooheon’s waist, a searing sensation of skin against skin. The thin shirt is bunched above his fingers, an interplay of subtle warmth and wrinkled fabric caught in his grip. Jia Er flexes his fingers, white cotton spilling over, his hands full, mesmerized by the sight. Jooheon’s breath catches with a sharp inhale.

One hand loosens its hold and slides away, fingers spread open over the curve of his stomach. Jooheon shudders, but he leans forward, arching into Jia Er’s touch. “What,” Jia Er smirks, his hand now dancing across the courtesan’s chest. He plays with a lone button, testing a finger against its loose bonds. “No corset this time?”

Jooheon ducks forward, curling into himself, indignant and embarrassed. “Shut up,” he stresses, voice fading into a low mumble. Jia Er’s hand tickles along his collarbone, and he clutches at the man’s wrist, not sure whether to rip it away or press himself closer.

“Come on,” the other man teases, reposing against the pillows, easy and open. “You looked positively _sinful_.” He grasps for Jooheon’s drooped chin, tilting the courtesan to face him.

Jooheon jerks up to look at him, or more accurately, to glare, brown eyes brimming with a sheen of angry tears. His cheeks are flushed, blotchy with red blooms. Crocodile tears - Jia Er has always been amazed at the courtesan’s ability to play with his heart. This time, he doesn’t want to give in so readily.

“ _Don’t tease_ -” Jooheon gasps, lips catching on the tip of Jia Er’s fingers, and the sudden pitch of his voice makes something go weak inside the other man. The courtesan leans forward, trapping Jia Er’s raised hand between them, still pressed, hot, against his chest. The loose edge of his nightshirt falls just another increment further, and the tops of his shoulders now glint, bare under the moon’s light.

“What are you waiting for?” It comes out as a whisper, a breath, begging for more. With Jooheon’s fingers clutched around his arm, Jia Er, unwittingly, automatically, as if drawn forward by a string, lets his hand travel up the delicate column of the courtesan’s exposed throat.

He can feel every breath, every pulse catch under his palm. Jooheon’s exhales come out in shaky little hiccups, small sounds that seem to ask _again, again_. Jia Er’s presses his thumb down, enough for his grip to be a loose collar around Jooheon’s throat.

He wears it without shame, wrapping his round fingers over Jia Er’s knobby own, circling in tighter and tighter. “ _Please-”_ he pants, and Jia Er is sure he doesn’t even know what he’s asking for. Even shaking, pleading in his grip, Jooheon has always been too much to handle.

But for him, his one and only beloved, Jia Er has never been able to say no. Jooheon, oblivious or not, has played him like no one else could - and now, Jia Er, as always, succumbs to their little games.

He doesn’t mind losing though, not when Jooheon falls against his chest, fingers scrabbling at his shirt, shaking like he’ll die if they’re not pressed skin to skin, one body intertwined around another. He pulls Jooheon up, sealing his mouth over the courtesan’s parted own. He swallows down a small whine, greedy, unrestrained, as his other hand parts the soft space between Jooheon’s thighs.

And it’s so _soft_ , beyond even the reach of Jia Er’s dreams, when he was yearning, far, far away from many suns ago. Jooheon cries, a desperation that drips, sweet as honey, across his tongue. Jia Er wants to taste it all, drink down even more, drain the beautiful flower dry. He could never be sated on one night alone.

Surely, Jia Er wonders, reaching into that pulsing, searing, _wet_ warmth, he must be drunk - or even better, asleep.

Jooheon, mind lost in a fog, rides his slick fingers with shaking thighs. It aches, deep within him, a numbing kind of pain, a good kind. It hurts, it makes him feel whole inside - but it’s not enough. He rips at Jia Er’s clothing, pushing the coat off his shoulders, fingers tearing into gold embossed buttons. Beneath his hands, the ambassador’s chest rises and falls, shining with sweat.

He pauses, panting, a small victory at last. His own nightshirt, tangled around his arms, is practically melded to his skin. Jia Er crooks his fingers, and Jooheon jumps, a violent, half-choked sound ripped from his throat.

Through the months, winter, summer, spring passed and gone, Jooheon has waited. He’s watched his door with every dawn, gone to sleep with the outline of someone flickering at his side, a dream materialized before his eyes had ever closed. Now, with Jia Er finally here, solid under him, he doesn’t want to wait anymore.

He pulls away from Jia Er’s fingers with a strangled moan and forces his body to straighten. His arms shake as he props himself up, an inevitable crutch that is all too likely to fall. Jooheon promises himself he’ll face those consequences when they come to pass. At the moment, the empty, pulsing heat in him is all that he can feel, the only thing he can focus on with distinct clarity.

“Please - in, in me,” he whispers, as if each breath was burned up from the inside out and the only thing left in him was fumes. Jia Er’s own words have deserted him as well, so he swallows down Jooheon’s pleas with a kiss, steals the air from his lungs through gasping, pleading lips.

The oil is forgotten, overlooked in their desperation. It stands right on the bedside table, but Jooheon begs, soundless, for Jia Er to go without it. When he finally slides in dry, the friction is a single spark of fire, tearing into them as it sets itself ablaze.

Inside, Jooheon feels like there’s a storm, a streak of lightning ripping through his stomach, a roar of thunder where his heart used to be. His blood sings, electric. Everything is perfect and all too much - he’s coming out of his skin, the beat of each pulse alight with flames, unraveling in mind and soul, and he’s so, so _alive._

Jia Er holds him close, limitless energy trapped in the confines of a delicate body, rattling against his chest. A fraction of the same lightning cuts through him, visceral enough that he feels the trickle of blood inside an open wound. The air is filled with rust and silver, the sharp bite of oxygen. Jooheon clenches around him, taking Jia Er to the hilt, and he’s scared - scared that Jooheon, filled so full, brimming over with even a little more, could somehow burst before him.

But no - their bodies know each other, have always known each other. Again, they fit together, lock and key. The brewing storm does not calm, but it adjusts with threads of lightning, bridging the cracks, filling dry deserts, and linking the both of them together with a sudden, simultaneous moan.

Jia Er rocks into the soft body held within his lap, easing himself, just barely in and out. Jooheon groans, frustrated, asking, _demanding_ for more. He takes his pleasure into his own hands and grabs the other man by the shoulders, half-crescents bleeding across his skin. Pulling himself up and down, over and over, he forgets the tremors shaking through Jia Er, muscles rippling under his palms, the minute twitches that are taking hold of his own body.

Uncontrollable, insatiable, Jooheon rips his orgasm from Jia Er’s spent cock and comes undone, head thrown back in silent ecstasy. The cold face of the moon swallows it into the black night. Jia Er chases his own climax to completion, mouthing at the rigid line of Jooheon’s neck. He bites down, tasting sparks on bare, shining skin. They dance, numbing his tongue as the electricity in his stomach pops and finally, fizzes out.

Above him, the courtesan moans in broken response. He falls, limp, drained, into Jia Er’s embrace.

The ambassador cradles him close, tucked, safe, into the crook of his arm. It takes Jia Er a shaky moment to find his breath and even longer to let go.

(Under the glow of moonlight, the curtain of everlasting night, perhaps he would’ve held Jooheon for an eternity).

They both sprawl across bed, the sheets tangled in a hopeless mess beneath them. There are no words - Jooheon simply breathes, _in-out, in-out_ , the rhythm of Jia Er’s chest rising, _up-down_ , in time to his own. Like this, in the safety of the unspoken comfort between them, his love curled around him, the sheen of a quiet dawn covering them both, his eyes drop closed.

The sun, as always, rises from the east, peeking bright through the window, right above the horizon where the moon used to be. Even now, the sky has yet to lighten, filled with a single pink streak. But the day eventually arrives again, and Jia Er, distracted by his thoughts, presses a kiss to the top of Jooheon’s head. It’s too bad, he admits, regret souring in his mouth - it must be time to leave.

“ _Stay.”_

Jooheon’s voice, muffled into his collarbone, cuts through the haze of indecision. It’s as if he had voiced his hesitation out loud. Looking down, he meets a smeared, sleep-worn stare. Still, a pair of brown eyes gaze back, more perceptive than ever in a state of post-sex exhaustion. The pink of dawn reflects, sheared petals floating, fallen, melted, within his stare. Jia Er wouldn’t be surprised if Jooheon could read his mind at this point.

“Stay,” Jooheon reiterates, climbing all over him and pushing him back down against the pillows. The word comes out like a sigh, a veneration of their bond, a tender request to wait just a while longer. Before long, the courtesan stills again, lips pressed in a half-kiss under the delicate crook of his jaw. He’s fallen asleep again, but this time, with his arms latched around Jia Er’s neck. Even in his dreams, he’s unwilling to budge.

Jia Er could go - untangle Jooheon from him, not a hard thing to do, despite what the dozing courtesan seems to think. Jooheon is only a soft weight holding him down - but Jia Er isn’t strong enough, and his heart is even weaker, even softer. He doesn’t want to let go, _can’t_ push him away. The image of Jooheon waking up alone, faint disappointment filling the space of his stare. And where there were stars, glinting with faraway light, it would only be replaced with dark sorrow.

His body lonely in a tangle of sheets, small within the huge spread of the bed. Another man falling into his arms, taking Jia Er’s place. Even if it’s only an excuse, Jia Er can’t let go. He’s fallen too far to deny himself of another day.

So he succumbs, he stays. He stays, beyond the distant reach of dawn’s piercing light, setting aside the weight of society, forgetting the limits of his own station, of Jooheon’s place so far beneath him. Lost in a happy dream, the courtesan smiles, a blissful peace stealing across the curve of his mouth. Soft and sweet, he presses invariably closer.

Jia Er closes his eyes and holds on tight, and he _stays._

 

_“my dreams of you_

_do not end_

_with waking up.”_

_e.s._

**Author's Note:**

> title from the lyrics of "sex dreams"by lady gaga. Gotta keep it consistent, even though there’s a year’s gap between this and the last fic lol  
> thank u for reading and hmu:  
> twitter: [*](https://twitter.com/happycakeycake)  
> tumblr: [^](https://happycakestories.tumblr.com/)  
> 


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